Paper Maker

After reading my brother’s latest travel blog, I have been inspired to inherit some of his blogging tactics to make things easier on readers. So for those of you who don’t have enough time to read these monstrous essays of mine, or who are interested in only certain details of my adventures, I’ve decided to make a list before each entry of what will be covered. So here goes.
Field trip to a Block printing/Pottery School and Paper Making Factory
Learning Hindi
Food and Family
Reciprocity Tactics in India
Other Observations

Last Friday we were taken on a class fields trip just outside Jaipur to a school that makes hand-made (and painted) blue pottery and block printed fabrics. We were given a personal tour of the place and were shown how everything was made. The best part I think was when we were instructed on how to make the block printed fabrics by the man we deemed the “block printing guru.” We entered a room with enormous table inside that took up the almost the entire space. On the table where spreads of cloth and intricately carved wooden blocks of different designs and images. Dipping a block in paint and pounding it down forcefully onto the aligned fabric, the guru demonstrated how, inch by inch, the extensive printed clothes are made. After the tutorial, we were given the chance to make our own block print. I made a camel that was comprised of three painted layers of different colors. It is mounted proudly on the wall in front of the desk in my room. The pottery part of the tour was also quite interesting. The clay itself, made out of quartz stone, once being crafted, painted and fired is then sold to small retailers all over the world. Everything we saw that day was beautiful, and felt quite lucky to have had the opportunity to see them in action considering the fact that hand-crafting pottery is becoming a dying trade in India as large scale manufacturers have swarmed the industry. Individuals whose families’ have been in the blue pottery industry as craftsmen for ages, have become more and more reluctant to continue the family trade due to both rising competition and concern for how they will be scrutinized as a part of society. We were told that they love having visitors like us so that the tradesmen can see that their work truly is appreciated. Following our tour we were taken across the street where we had the chance to purchase some of the block printed fabrics. Everything was so gorgeous…I felt completely overwhelmed.
Our next stop was the paper factory. Once we arrived, we followed our tour guide into the first room where the paper pulp is processed. I was surprised to learn that the actual pulp is made from small pieces of scrap cotton cloth that they get from nearby garment factories. Past this first section of the factory, we forbidden from taking any more pictures. The reason why comes later. In the next room we watched as the newly made paper sheets were flattened out, dried and stacked. Behind us were stacks of paper of all different textures and colors piled to the ceiling. Further down the line, the real action began. Tables of workers were set up at different stations making anything you can think of that is made out of paper: photo albums, picture frames, gift boxed and bags, stationary, notebooks and more. We had a chance to visit with a table of women who were stitching patterned designs on gift bags with red thread. When someone in the group pointed out the “Hallmark” tags that were being placed on the finishing products, I understood in that instant why we were prohibited from taking pictures in the factory. It seemed very serial to me that I was actually witnessing the goings on of what has become such a controversial and long debated issue in the world today. All things considered I will say this much, the conditions seemed comfortable enough, and the people by no means appeared to be oppressed or mistreated. And having passed by so many unemployed individuals in the streets on our way to the factory, it seems illogical to me that these workers did not feel appreciative to have the job. I laughed when I spotted the “Happy New Year” sign on the wall above one of the working areas—one you might see around the holidays in offices in the U.S. The tour came to an end when, again, we had a chance to buy what we wanted from the factory. My heart was set on getting a Hallmark bag but when they were nowhere to be seen I settled for a collapsible pencil box.
Hindi is certainly the most difficult language I have attempted thus far. For those of you who’ve studied a language whose script differs from the roman alphebet, I feel your pain. Hindi is written in what is called the Devangari script, which is also the main script for Sanscrit (India’s classical language and also the world’s oldest language). The alphabet consists of fifty basic letters of which there are 12 vowels and 38 consonants. Additionally, each vowel has two forms: the independent character when used at the beginning of a syllable, and a dependent sign used for a vowel immediately following a consonant. (All this brought to you with help from my Hindi grammar book). The bottom line is that learning Hindi comes in two parts: being able to decipher the words in script, and then learning and remembering what the words actually mean. At this point I am pleased if I manage to read the script correctly, even if I don’t know what the heck I have just read. I get my practice by reading the street signs and billboards wherever I go—a little trick I picked up from Katja in Thailand. As far as speaking goes, I’m working on mastering my “retroflex” and trying to comprehend how the letter “t” could possibly have five different sounds. Nevertheless, slowly but surely I am learning. I was successful in giving directions to a rickshaw driver the other day, and was understood by a vendor when I asked him to “kam karo” (reduce the price). I will leave you with a few other helpful words in Hind (though I’ll save you and me both the trouble of doing it in Hindi script.
Namaste - hello/goodbye
Ap kaise hai? - How are you?
Thike - ok
Bahut achchha - very good
Ha - yes
Nahi - no
Laziz - delicious
Kitne Rupaye? - How much?
Chaye taiyar hai - the tea is ready

Amy and I have settled in well with our family. The kids have been rather sick lately so we haven’t seen much of them between class and their bed time. Our parents (Navita and Pankaj) have been wonderful and seem to enjoy our company. How is the food you may ask…. Well, this is a subject that has become a bit confusing to me. When we first got to India and were eating at the hotels, I absolutely fell in love with the food. Everything was so flavorful and delicious. Since arriving at our home stay, I must be honest in saying that I’ve been a bit disappointed. I think I’ve eaten more okra over the past two weeks than I have over the course of my entire life. Meals generally consist of staples like chapatti (basically a thicker, grainier form of a tortilla that’s often times smothered in ghi), one of three overcooked vegetables (like okra, pumpkin or green beans), and some sort of soupy potato concoction. I’m pretty sure 80% of my diet consists of starch alone…which makes me understand to how people seem to work without rest here. I suppose all the chapatti and potatoes seem to provide them with the energy. Anyway, I was down on India food for a while until I began tasting other people’s food at lunch, as well as after having a fantastic dinner at Erik and Jesse’s host family’s house. The conclusion I have made out of it all is this is that if I intend to get to know Indian cuisine, I’m going to have to go out of my way to do so. Most of the other MSID students have picked up on the fact that when we go out to a restaurant, it is usually Amy and I who don’t know what to order because we’ve never had any of it before. Se la vi, life goes on, I’m happy to be where I am. Another day I will have to elaborate on the intriguing conversations we have at dinner with our host dad.
Reciprocity tactics in India occur wherever you go—something I am beginning to get quite sick of. I feel like anywhere I go there will always be somebody insisting on providing me with a service “free of charge” that I don’t want. Regardless of my refusals, they do it anyway leaving me in an awkward bind. A perfect example of this came when we were visiting the temple in Udaipur. There were cubbies just outside the temple where we could place our shoes before entering. Approaching the cubbies, we were met by a man who told us we were not allowed “by temple rules” to put our shoes in there, and that he would do us the service of watching our shoes. Although we were did not buy into his scheme, the last thing we wanted was to start a scene at the temple. So we set our shoes down only to be met by another man who insisted on giving us a tour of the place. We made it clear we were not interested and wandered off on our own to take pictures. Nevertheless, the man continued to follow us as he began reciting his spiel and continued the entire time we were there. Eventually we felt bad enough that we started listening to him and gave him a bit of money at the end of it. Likewise we dispensed some change to the man who had “so generously” watched our shoes.
Now you might be thinking what, really, does she have to complain about? A few rupaye here or there is the least you could do….right? Don’t get me wrong, certainly it is impossible not to feel incredibly privileged here as a white girl from the west. Yes I have witnessed poverty like I have never seen before and have gone through feelings of emptiness and guilt from witnessing it on the daily. But somehow dishing out a rupaye here or there out of guilty obligation does not seem like the answer to me. Feeling like I’m constantly stuck between a rock and a hard place is starting getting old….something I think the poor can relate to much better than I. Yet we both continue to leave each other in the in-between.
It is the children you run into on the streets that make the misery around me most real. Sometimes they will follow you for blocks on end in hopes of getting money from you. But often times there are so many of them that gather, poking at your side, making it impossible to do anything. We try to talk to them…getting their names and ages so that we can remember them the next time we pass that way. This was not something I had prepared for.

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